A NOTE TO MY PATIENT TEACHERS

This post is an ode to my teachers who didn't even know they were one to me. Yes, you read it right. My patient teachers. But when were teachers ever patient? Maybe a few, here and there. But here, the patient is not an adjective; it's a noun. My most efficient teachers other than my books who taught me subject and life matters were my patients from the start of my medical career. On this teacher's day, I decided to dedicate a post to them.

 

To all my patients who didn't know they were indeed helping me learn and grow.

To my patients who had donated their bodies to medical college as a cadaver so that I could learn dissection.

To my patients who let me poke them to learn the signs of the disease even when they knew it would hurt.

To my patients who let me attempt an IV line or tube insertion more than twice because they were my firsts.

To my patients who responded to me with smiles and wishes because I looked aghast even when they were sick and suffering.

To my patients who spoke encouraging words to me after my embarrassing morning rounds.

To my patients who visited back to let me know my treatment worked.

To my patients who pointed out my lazy mistakes and made me more aware.

To my patients who let me operate on them, though they barely even knew me.

To my patients who taught me what smiling in the face of suffering is.

To my patients who taught me trust and courage.

To my patients who waited calmly for results and showed up despite being disappointed.

To my patients who understood doctors are humans too and they fail as well.

To my patients who shared with me their darkest secrets, completely entrusting me.

To my patients who force me to keep learning and keep me on track.

Also, to my patients who taught me to fight back and stand up for myself and my fraternity.

To my patients who are patient with me and teach me more about it.

A big fat thank you.

#penbooksandscalpel

This post is a part of Blogchatter’s half marathon 2023